


Inscape

by bogged



Category: Harry Potter RPF, Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-13
Updated: 2004-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-04 12:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogged/pseuds/bogged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, the handbasket. Why wouldn't Elijah want to smoke joints and eat Chinese with a 15-year-old? It all seemed perfectly sensical back in 2004.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inscape

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know or own anyone discussed herein, as you could probably have figured out on your own, so please do not throw the book at me for defamation of character. Thank you!

"I feel really, really fucked up."

Elijah stretches out on the warped wood. He feels the heat of it rise into his bones and flow out of his mouth, tangible as the smoke dancing from the glowing tip of his joint.

"What do you want me to do?" Elijah asks after licking his lips. Dan takes the joint off of Elijah's bellybutton and holds it eye-level. He inspects it as a detective might, trying to figure out how this fits into the scene of the crime. A detective, however, would not place it between his lips and take a long, toe curling drag. This is exactly why, Daniel decides as he watches smoke billow from between his chapped lips, he is an actor and not a detective. That, and he's only fifteen. The thought of himself in a Sherlock Holmes getup is too much to handle; laughter spills out of him in mellow waves, each one knocking into Elijah and causing them to laugh together.

"You sort of stick your tongue out when you laugh," Dan notices. He rolls onto his stomach and the sides of their hips brush together fast, like two leaves meeting each other mid-fall. He reaches his arm over Elijah to try and touch his tongue, but Dan's movements are slurred and the arm ends up falling like a dead weight onto Elijah's ribcage.

"Bastard." Elijah runs an arm up underneath Dan's neck and places his other hand on top of the younger one tracing circles on his chest. He feels the difference in their age in his fingers. He notices the smoothness of Dan's nails and the softness of his cuticles. Elijah runs his roughened, tar-stained fingertips over the soft wrinkles on Dan's knuckles.

Dan moves into Elijah. Together, they let the joint burn itself out on a knot in the wood of the pier. There are no waves this evening, just ripples hardly registering themselves.

They don't move until Elijah's cell rings and he jolts up, knocking Dan back against the wood. When he stands up—Elijah looks anxious and about to leave—there are ashes stuck to the back of his green cotton tee.

-:-

Dan lets his eyes roll back into their sockets after Elijah switches his cell from the right ear to the left.

"Orlando!" Elijah laughs. Dan softly growls and opens his eyes.

The rice on his plate is turning brown and deflating from being soaked in soy sauce. Steam has stopped rising, which means it's most likely cold as ice. He'll eat it anyway. The plate itself is white and crisp against the muted green tablecloth. The table is, if it's lucky, two-and-a-half feet tall, square, and can barely hold his and Elijah's food plus the unscented white candle placed distractingly off-center. The restaurant is Japanese and isn't too busy, but they've taken a back corner table, just in case.

"Okay… okay… yeah, I know. I know, Orlando. Yes, I promise… I'll be there at seven. Love you, too."

And even in these moments when Elijah is being a complete bastard, Dan finds a quiet within himself that defeats his visceral urge to pour cold, soppy rice down the front of Elijah's grey Prada trousers. He seriously considers it, because who really wears Prada out to dinner when they know beforehand they'll be sitting on the floor? Someone with a second, more grown-up date to attend. That's who.

But Dan is mature (enough) and unwillingly crushing (much more than enough) and Elijah is looking at him with eyes that could make a blind man forgive.

"It's almost seven," Dan mutters, glancing at his watch with a frown. "You'd better shove off," he says, his voice vehement and low. He can't help but hope Elijah catches the tone and does something crazy, like decide to stay. There's a first time for everything.

Elijah stuffs peppers and onions and chicken in between his chopsticks and shoves them into his mouth. He takes a large drink of his green tea before swallowing and then waves a hurried goodbye.

Dan wishes he were a vicious, jealous boy. He wishes he weren't so okay with it all. He wishes he didn't understand why Elijah was with Orlando in a similar, yet infinitely different way than he was with himself. Dan wants to be angry. He wants to run after Elijah yelling obscenities. He wants more than anything to cause a big fucking scene. He wants to, but he won't.

He once read that everyone has a light that shines from inside of them, a glowing from within. Dan sees that in Elijah constantly, and he likes to think that he brings the light out stronger than Orlando ever could.

Elijah stands in the doorway of the pagoda shaped restaurant. The sun is setting over the horizon; there's a disturbing lack of buildings to block out the rays. A black beetle-shaped bug flies over Dan's untouched rice. It catches his attention and he looks at it, but as soon as he does it flies away. It glows as it dips among the tables, flitting between dishes and cutting dinners short.

Elijah turns around and waves. He grabs Dan's attention as the sun's rays bring him into silhouette. Dan gives a crooked smile and a guilty wave and then Elijah walks away, flitting to Orlando, cutting Dan short.

"Goodbye, firefly."


End file.
